


I want to bring you back (to where I know you)

by spyglass



Series: Fake death 'verse [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Character Death, Dream Sex, F/M, Fake Character Death, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spyglass/pseuds/spyglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver is on the comms with Felicity the night he believes she dies. In the weeks and months that follow, Oliver looks forward to the nights when he dreams of a world where she's still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I want to bring you back (to where I know you)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a tumblr prompt from gretaprewett, and then jaegermighty got involved and it kind of took off. I can't find the original post for the life of me, but if anyone is feeling brave and wants to wade through my oliver x felicity tags on tumblr, you are more than welcome to. I am the tumblr user better known as allstartstofade. Good luck and/or please feel free to come say hello! :)
> 
> Anyway, the general gist of this prompt was that in the fallout of whatever Slade has going on, Felicity fakes her own death as part of a deal with ARGUS to keep everyone else safe. This is more or less my take on Oliver's grieving process during the year that Felicity is gone, since he believes she really is dead.
> 
> Additionally, this was based on the same Tumblr prompt as "You're the one that I love (and I had to say goodbye)" by ohmypreciousgirl, and it can be read as a prequel to that story.

 

 

In the time since, Oliver looks forward to the nights when he dreams.

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn't happen right away. Those first few weeks pass in a blur from the moment he hears it happen: first the explosion, then her scream; then, the comm link cuts out and everything goes silent. Oliver beats the others to the old office but it's too late; the building has already gone up in flames. He watches the building burn, and he feels something inside him burn with it.

There's a moment--a few brief, fleeting seconds--when he thinks maybe she got out. Maybe she's in a hospital somewhere, complaining to the nurses about her IV. Maybe the body they recovered is someone else. Maybe, maybe, _maybe_. He ignores logic and reason, because those are her strengths anyway and he's never wanted so much to be wrong.

(He isn't.)

The funeral is surreal, the one funeral he was never supposed to attend. It happens quickly, practically as soon as Felicity's mother arrives in town, and that's probably for the best. With more notice, Oliver has no doubt the crowd would be larger; when word of her death circulates, there will be no end to the curious onlookers who want to know about the woman who was so often pictured at his side at Queen Consolidated events. As it is, Oliver looks out at the crowd gathered around her gravesite and wants to scream because how many of these people actually _know_ her.

Knew her.

Oliver stands stiffly while the few who did know her weep around him. Judith Smoak wipes at red-rimmed eyes; Sara leans on her father as they shake silently; Thea's hand slips into Roy's as Roy tugs her close, drawing strength from each other. A few women Oliver recognizes from the office but doesn't know by name are huddled together while Diggle stands back and hides his face in a handkerchief; Barry doesn't even try to hide his tears. But Oliver doesn't cry, he doesn't remember how to. He's too numb to feel anything but a deep, overwhelming emptiness.

After it's over, there's a small gathering at her apartment. Her mother, a poised woman even in her grief, recounts stories of Felicity's childhood, stories Oliver will wish he had heard later, but it's still too soon, too raw, and he can't bear to hear them now. He can't bear to hear them from anyone but _her_.

That night he drowns himself in a bottle of scotch before finally succumbing to sleep. He doesn't dream, but he escapes reality for a few hours. For the time being, it's all he can ask for.

 

* * *

 

 

The dreams start a few weeks later.

More specifically, the dreams start the night after they finish cleaning out her apartment.

They find a list, a file hidden away on one of her tablets, with instructions. _Just in case._ A list of things she wanted them to have. Over the course of a long weekend, her entire life gets sorted and boxed up, her furniture put in storage until they can decide what they want to do with it, and then her apartment is empty, as though she had never been there at all.

(The physical proof may be gone, but there's a gaping hole in his heart that says otherwise.)

That night, he dreams he's in the foundry. It's a night just like any other: Sara is sparring with Roy while Diggle watches and gives input on the kid's moves. Oliver is sharpening arrows and looking on when he catches a flash of bright pink and a familiar blonde ponytail at her computers.

She laughs at something Sara says, then gets caught up in a conversation with Diggle. When she turns to ask him a question, Oliver jolts awake. But unlike his usual nightmares, he wants nothing more than to return to it.

Later that day, he goes out in broad daylight and breaks up a drug deal, killing four, and three attempted assaults, killing six. The body count doesn't matter anymore, not without her. He wanders the city aimlessly for hours looking for new targets, before finally giving up and trudging back to the foundry.

It's dark and he finds himself blessedly alone. (Silence is preferable to the sound of everyone else here without her.) He sits down in her chair, in front of her computers. Surrounded by her memory, he lays his head down on her desk -- because it will always be _hers_ \-- and doesn't fight it when the tears finally come.

It's the first time he's cried since she's been gone.

It won't be the last.

 

* * *

 

 

In his next dream, he's at the office.

It's early, before most people have reported in, but she's already sitting at her desk, typing away. She tilts her head in greeting, teasing him with a familiar, "Good morning, Mr. Queen," as she always does, and he watches her bright smile as he places her coffee on the desk beside her. He waits for her satisfied sigh as she takes her first sip.

It's their carefully crafted routine, and it's such a simple thing that he hadn't realized how much he cherished it until it was gone.

When he turns to enter his own office, he hears the explosion. He watches as her small area goes up in flames, and this time, he hears her cries. She calls to him, but he's trapped behind the glass walls and can't get to her.

(He wonders if she called for him that night, too, after the comms cut out. And the worst part is he knows she'd never blame him, no matter how much he blames himself.)

He wakes to tangled sheets and water and aspirin sitting on his bedside table, indicating that someone -- probably Thea -- had been by at some point since he passed out at around 5 am. There's a note reminding him that it's Saturday and he promised he would come to family dinner this week, but he ignores it. Instead, he uses one of her hacks to tap into the fire department's network and sets out to see if there's someone he _can_ save.

As it turns out, there's an apartment fire the very next night and two young children are trapped in one of the top floors. Oliver saves them. Easily.

But it doesn't matter because he didn't save _her_.

His new assistant brings him coffee first thing on Monday morning. He doesn't wait until she leaves his office to throw it in the trash.

 

* * *

 

 

After a while, the line between dream and reality begins to blur.

It starts out innocently enough, a flash of color as he's walking on the street just outside the office or the instinct to put in her order when they stop at Big Belly Burger, but before long, she's everywhere. Hardly an hour goes by where he doesn't feel her phantom presence at his side or hear the sound of her voice echoing in his ears. When the CFO counts back from three at their next board meeting, he stands up and walks out without a word of explanation.

In that moment, he knows with painful certainty that he loved her -- that he loves her still -- and he wonders how he ever thought he could fight it when it all seems so clear to him now.

He heads straight home and drowns himself in another bottle of scotch, offering wordless apologies she'd never ask for and wishing he could have been the man she always believed he could be.

 

* * *

 

 

It takes a few more nights for him to dream again, but this time, she's in his bed beneath him, her legs locked around his waist and her nails digging into his back.

This is a dream he's had before, but it's different all the same.

There's a quiet desperation as he thrusts into her, one that he's never felt before, and it overwhelms him. His hands and lips are everywhere, marking her, claiming her (he's never felt quite so possessive before); his teeth find that spot on her shoulder that he's always been drawn to. Her hips buck up to meet him, and he has to remind himself to be careful not to hurt her.

(Even in his dreams, she looks at him like she believes he never will; he, of course, has always known better.)

Soon, too soon, his thrusts become more erratic and she's calling out his name as she throws her head back. He fucks her through her own release, and only then does he let himself go.

Afterwards, she curls into his side and lays her head against his chest, smiling up at him, sated and content. It's everything he ever wanted and never thought he could have, and he fights the weariness he feels settling over him.

In the back of his mind, he knows it's only a matter of time before he wakes up again.

 

* * *

 

 

The truth is that he has always known he would only be with her in his dreams.

He always thought that one day he would have to watch her find happiness with someone else, someone better. Someone who deserves her. It would hurt, he knew, but it would be for the best. All he's ever wanted is for her to be happy.

He realizes now that he was wrong because she died not knowing how he felt about her. She deserved the truth from him; she deserved the truth and so much more, and now he would never have the chance to make it up to her.

When he dreams, at least he can pretend he has a chance to right those wrongs.

The seconds immediately after he wakes are peaceful, calm, even comforting. In those first moments when sleep still has its hold on him, it feels so real that he forgets she's gone.

At this point, he goes to sleep each night hoping that he'll dream of a world where she's alive.

 

* * *

 

 

Sometimes, he dreams of sunlight streaming in through the windows, of brightly colored sheets, and waking up to the sight of her hair spread out on her pillows.

He kisses her awake and his hand comes to cup her cheek. He revels in the fact that she leans into him.

"Good morning," she says sleepily.

"Good morning." His fingers trace patterns against her cheek until her eyes finally flutter open and she meets his gaze. "I love you."

She lifts her head off the pillow, a questioning look on her face even as she laughs. "Why so serious this morning?" she asks.

He pulls her back into his side and kisses her again with sudden urgency. In this moment, he needs her to know. " _I love you_ , Felicity."

"I know."

She's settled against him, sighing contentedly, and when he takes her hand in his and brushes his thumb against her knuckles, he feels the ring that sits on her left fourth finger and he thinks, maybe, she does know.

He wraps his arms around her a little tighter, desperate to hang onto this for as long as he can.

"Go back to sleep," she says, nestling her head against his chest. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes up, he reaches for her.


End file.
